My Pa's Axe
by MystiYew
Summary: "Boy! What's your weapon of choice!" Jolting slightly from the surprise question, Agmaer was caught flat footed for a moment. "Uhh my uh weapon? I mostly use my Pa's axe, when wolves or the like attack." Hearing this, Isran paused mid step. His head turned back jerkily, and he wore a somewhat incredulous expression. "Stendarr preserve us."


I might re-do the chapter and flesh it out more. Feels quite rushed.

My Pa's Axe

1

"_C'mere boy." Came a gruff voice. "Coming Pa!" came a somewhat shriller one. A young lad, barely ten summers, came bounding into the room; long blonde tresses bounding happily behind him. "What're we doin' today Pa!" Exclaimed the lad, veritably vibrating with excitement. Glancing at the lad grasping his breeches, the gruff voice spoke once more. "Magic, lad. We're learnin' some magic."_

_Immediately the boy stilled somewhat. "Magic, Pa?" A mighty __**whack**__ came across the boy's head as his father spoke somewhat irritably. "Non' a tha' nonsense here. The clever craft ain't somethin' ta be afraid of. It's saved my life plenty o' times and I'll damn well make sure it saves yers too. Now c'mere. Today we're learnin 'Flames' and 'Healing', no matter what you decide to do, these'll be damn handy."_

_-Memoirs of Aegmer_

"Listen up!" Cried an Orc, momentarily quieting the cacophony that was '_The Bee and Barb'_. "The Dawnguard is looking for _anyone_ willing to fight the growing vampire menace. We'll train you. We'll arm you! And we'll damn well kill some vampires! What say you!?" Clearly, the orsimer had a flair for the dramatics. Though Skyrim was the home of the nords, a people of fearsome and renowned martial prowess, this was Riften. A hive of villainy and scum, it's people were barely able to look after themselves. Try to make Riften a better place? The Black-Briars would like to talk to you. Try to make your life a little easier? Mayhaps a financial venture, line the pockets a little. The Thieves Guild appreciates your hard work. Despite the hard work of the previous generation(1), Riften is still barely a town as opposed to the city it's meant to be. Racial tensions exacerbate the situation. Though not as bad as Windhelm, the races of man do not look kindly upon the dunmer that came so long ago(2).

All of this leads to a very subdued response within the tavern. Eventually, an argonian speaks up. His gaze still on his tankard, "And what is this _Dawnguard-_" he says, rolling the unfamiliar word across his tongue "you speak of?"

The orc, happy to receive any kind of response, replies quickly; with his back straightened and chest puffed he speaks, "We're _Vampire Hunters._" The way he carefully pronounces each syllable, as well as his posture and the gleam in his eyes, shows evident pride in the self-given title(3). "We sniff out vampire scum like they sniff out your blood. Wherever they are, we hunt them down-" His voice lowers ever so slightly, as a savage grin breaks free, "and we kill them. No matter what it takes. We make the so-called _Hunters of the night, _into mere prey."

A ripple of unease spread across the room. Another speaks up, this time a nord in rags, his face unclean and beard unkempt. "Sure, there've been rumours of some vampires up north but why do we need to join the Dawnguard, heck why do we need the Dawnguard at all? Surely the Vigilants will clear out this so called 'growing menace'?" A murmur of agreement starts making its way round. Though not a common sight, the Vigilants of Stendarr were not a rare one either. Though the Skyrim chapter was based in the pale, they patrolled all of Skyrim. Any traveller is bound to meet one eventually, off on some quest to banish daedra and their ilk.

A derisive snort cuts through their chatter as the orsimer speaks up once more. "Then clearly, you haven't been paying attention. The Hall of the Vigilant was burned down. By vampires. They're all dead, and the nearest chapter is somewhere in the Illiac Bay. No, you _need _the Dawnguard. The imperials won't help either, the great war was too recent. They're stretched too thin as it is." Once again, patrons of the inn don't take the news so well. However, regardless of their newfound danger, no one speaks up again. After it becomes clear no one is going to speak, the orc lets out a long sigh. "I guess you're not interested." Despite his rather rigorous beginning, he seems now rather downcast. Straightening up once more, he speaks one last time. "Regardless, the Dawnguard will do its best to combat this menace. To keep you alive. If you change your mind, we're stationed up in Fort Dawnguard, east of here." With a shake of his head he makes his way out into the chilly Skyrim air.

Once he leaves, conversation starts to ramp up once more. As if everyone is trying to make themselves forget the unpleasant nature of their situation. One nord stays quiet, however. Gnawing at his lip, his right knee bounces up and down. Fingers drumming the table, he stares at the door from which the orc left. Eventually, he takes a deep breath, drains his tankard and tosses a few copper drakes(4) on the table. Stepping into the cold night air, he stops momentarily. Turning this way and that, he eventually spots the orc he's looking for.

"Wait! Wait wait wait!" He cries, waving his hand manically as he sprints forth. The orc peers backwards, somewhat surprised to see someone. He waits as the nord finally reaches him, panting as his hands rest on his knees.

His breath caught; he looks up. Up close, he can see what the orc looks like much better. Green skin and tusks as what was typical of his folk, a tight ponytail of greying hair and eyes that stared out from under a heavyset brow. All in all, he didn't look too different from your average folk. So he was very intimidating indeed. As an eyebrow raised, the nord realised he'd been staring too long. Flushing slightly, he gulped and wet his lips. "I-I-I'd like to join the Dawnguard!" Stammering to begin with, he spoke with such haste, it was if he was afraid to lose what courage he had gathered.

"Do you now?" Said the orc, slowly. An appraising eye roving the would be recruit.

"Y-y-yessir!" Stammered the nord, his eyes wide. At this, the orc laughed heartily as the nord looked a bit shamefaced, wondering what he'd done wrong.

"I'm no sir, you whelp! Call me Durak!" he cried heartily, grasping the nord's forearm with vigour. "Hahaha! A room full of big nords and it's the milk drinker that grows a pair! Hahaha! What's your name, boy!"

"I-I'm Agmaer, si-Durak!" he said with a bit more confidence, a smile spreading, despite his whole body being shaken by the Orc's strong grasp. "You, Agmaer! I like you! You've got heart. Unfortunately, I can't say for sure whether or not you get a place in the Dawnguard. That's up to Isran, our leader, up in Fort Dawnguard. Head east from here, and you'll eventually come across a cave that leads to Dayspring Canyon. That's where you need to go. Pack light, it's a bit of a trek. Although I can't confirm your place, I've got a good feeling about you, whelp." Saying this, Durak gives Agmaer a might pat on the back, and begins walking off.

Seeing this, Agmaer calls once again. "Wait! Where're you going? I thought we were going together!" hearing this, Durak simply chuckles. "I'd love to, whelp. But I've got a job to do! Which unfortunately, isn't killing vampires. I'm going across Skyrim, get as much help as possible. Might even head into Bruma for a quick stint! While you could come with me, from the looks of it, you need to train more than you need to gallivant off with me. Fort Dawnguard will be able to sort you out better. If you're worried about the road, it should be fine. I cleared it on my way here, should be good for a few more days. I hope to see you there, Agmaer!" With one last wave, Durak walks off into the night. Leaving Agmaer in the cold.

-()-

_Snkkt, _went his axe as it bit into yet another wolf's neck. "Haah, haah, haah…" Panted Agmaer, taking deep, greedy pulls of air. "I thought… he said… the road… WAS CLEAR!" With an almighty heave, he rolled the wolf's corpse off himself. Laying spread eagled in the middle of the road, lay Agmaer. Compared to his somewhat cleanly appearance back in Riften, Agmaer was now in a bit of a state. His tunic had several long tears in it from where a wolf had slashed him, and he was missing part of his breeches from where one had snuck up and had a bit of a snack. On top of that, he was covered in his own blood, dirt and wolf viscera. Gathering his strength, he managed to lean against a nearby tree, of which there were many in the Rift. Concentrating deeply, he began to pull on his magicka. Everyone had their own method of casting(5), and Agmaer had long since figured out his. Although he could visualise his magicka, it worked better if he simply _felt _it. Doing so, he was rewarded with a familiar well of warmth, and started directing it to his wounds. Just enough to close them and scab a little bit. _'Like Pa always said, "unless you want skin like paper, you'll heal the rest the natural way. Do enough to keep your insides, inside, then leave it be. Plus, how're you gonna woo them lasses without some scars, eh?" I'm still working on the last part though, anyways even if it does scar, if I don't like it, I can get some poultice to remove it later.' _

Wounds now closed, Agmaer slowly rose to his feet. Tottering slightly from blood loss, he eventually righted himself and looked around the mess that he'd left behind. Three wolf corpses lay scattered around with his pack further behind. He'd dropped it as they'd stepped out the bushes, not wanting the weight to hinder him. Sighing, he made his way over and slowly strapped his pack back on. It was a relatively unique design, smaller than the average travelling pack with a single strap going from his left shoulder to his right hip. It was slim and slick against his form. A hangover from his father's adventuring days. It was designed to not get in the way nearly as much as a conventional pack would and if it did get in the way, a single clasp on the front was all the stood between it, and the ground. His father would often lament he didn't get to upgrade it as much as he wanted to.

Adjusting the strap on his shoulder so it wouldn't dig in as much, Agmaer continued forth. Hopefully he'd reach the canyon before nightfall, and the fort first thing in the morning.

The entrance to the canyon was relatively unassuming. A mere crack in the rocky formations that led to junction between Morrowind and Cyrodiil. The only thing that made it stand out, was the somewhat beaten path leading in, as well as the lit braziers just outside. No light came from within the crevice. Steeling his nerves, Agmaer ventured forth, hoping he had the right place and not some bandit camp. Feeling his way through, and after a few bends in the tunnel, it started to slope downwards. Thinking he was nearing the end, he hurried his pace, and sure enough, he was rewarded with the gentle twilight.

His breath caught as he gazed upon the somewhat picturesque view before him. Despite being named 'Dayspring Canyon', in reality it was more of a basin. In the distance he could see a tower, of what he assumed to be a turret of Fort Dawnguard, cresting over some rock formations; the light of Magnus provided resplendent backlight as it set, the rays catching the small wooded area before him also. The auburn light made it seem as if the trees were aflame. To his right, a half-frozen waterfall completed the view. The sun's gentle rays sparkling off the water.

Taking a deep breath, Agmaer committed the view to memory. This was to mark the start of a new chapter in his life.

Knowing he wouldn't make it to the fort before sunset, Agmaer journeyed down to the waterfront to set up camp. Conveniently, someone had already cleared the area. It appeared that the vampire hunters gathered some of the fresh fish from here for food. Regardless, Agmaer thanked Stendarr for his luck(6) and quickly set up his bedroll and a fire pit. Reaching within, Agmaer pulled the barest flicker of warmth to his fingertip and lit the kindling. Soon he had a nice roaring fire with which he could cook his food. A lovely wolf stew. Having felt particularly vindictive, he'd grabbed the haunch and ribs of the wolf who had dined upon his leg. Biting into a particularly juicy rib, Agmaer decided that his calf felt a lot better.

Having supped upon stew and ribs until content, Agmaer retired for the day. The fire crackled and spat until it eventually died, it's coals cooling in the night. Within his warm goatskin bedroll, Agmaer dreamed of vampires, wolves and mighty forts.

-()-

The trek to Fort Dawnguard was much more pleasant affair than the trek to Dayspring Canyon. Agmaer had risen just before the break of dawn and had quickly broken both fast and camp. With the sun at his back, he began the last stretch of his journey. Approaching the fort, he got to see more detail and was surprised at what he saw. With how member starved they seemed; he'd expected a half-ruined fort. Not this imposing monolith. It was comparable to the one time he'd seen the great walls of Solitude. Grand. Imposing. _Dauntless._ As he approached however, it did seem like they lack resources. There were no men patrolling the walls, there were no tell-tale glints of arrowheads in archer slits and there was only one woman outside patrolling the _wooden _walls that protected the path to the front door. Agmaer shook his head slightly. There was no point dwelling on the deficiencies of this order. He was here to assist them as best he could and in doing so, safeguard Skyrim.

With a might groan, Agmaer managed to heft one of the doors open. Surprisingly easily in fact. Once inside he noted that the interior was much worse than the exterior. Crates lined the walls, both open and closed, with various pieces of equipment scattered around them. Some of them appeared to not have been touched for centuries, covered in dust as they were. Looking up, the sight was rather grand. A circular large stone was mezzanine(7) centred above the entrance hall. Despite the grand construction, the numerous cobwebs beneath its eaves detracted from it. As well as the cobwebs on the ceiling above. The only sounds that echoed within the fort were the occasional footfalls and turning of pages.

"H-Hello?" Aegmar called tentatively. He fiddled with his strap a little, as he peered about the large space he was in.

"Hm?" A simple sound heard often, but this one carried depth to it. A deep gravelly tone, that gave away the experience its owner held.

In response to Agmaer's tentative calling, a series of footfalls began echoing down to the entrance hall. Soon, they came to a stop. Hands clad in thick leather gauntlets grasped the railing of the mezzanine, squeaking slightly as they did so, as a face peered over the edge. From this distance, Agmaer couldn't make out too many details. However, he could tell the man was a relatively tall redguard, his head was shaven clean; in juxtaposition to his head, a mighty beard reaching his collarbone sat, though his jowls were shaven clean.

"You there, boy!" He bellowed down "What are you doing in _my fort_?"

Flinching slightly at his rough tone, Agmaer hastily replied "I-I'm here to join the Dawnguard, sir!" With as much confidence as he could muster, he stared back into the redguard's steely gaze.

"Do I look like a sir to you, boy? I'm no soldier and I'm sure as Oblivion I'm no noble. From the looks of it, neither are you. My name is Isran. I _lead_ the Dawnguard. Now, what's your name, whelp?" asked Isran, somewhat imperiously.

"A-Agmaer, si-Isran!" he replied, stumbling over his words.

"Well, _Agmaer_" said Isran, as if tasting the word "Head right, I'll be down in a minute. We'll see if you're Dawnguard material." His piece said, Isran pushed off the railing and strode away. Hearing his footfalls wander off, Agmaer breathed a sigh of relief. '_I barely talked to him for ten breaths and I'm quaking in my boots! He's got the same level of intensity as Pa!_' Shaking his head slightly, Agmaer steeled himself as much as he was able to and strode off. In what was hopefully the right direction.

Venturing down the somewhat dim halls, Agmaer eventually came across a room roughly half the size of the entrance hall. In it, were a number of archery targets and straw facsimiles of enemies. To complement the look, there were also several weapon racks that held an array of weaponry. To the side, Isran was already waiting. He was examining some odd contraption, '_It looks as if someone stuck a miniature bow onto a thick branch. Is this one o' those 'bowcross'__(8)__ things pa told me about?' _Setting his muses aside, Agmaer refocused on Isran.

"Step forward boy." Called Isran, his muses apparently over also. Gulping somewhat nervously, Agmaer stepped within arm's reach and almost let out a very girl-_manly_ scream, as Isran suddenly grasped his arm. '_By the nine! Don't you ask first!'_ as Isran continued his impromptu inspection, Agmaer attempted to calm his heart.

"Hmm…" muttered Isran "It could be worse, you've definitely got at least _some _muscle definition. I suppose you're a farm boy, hm?" Steely eyes looked into Agmaer's, before suddenly backing away. Turning to the weapon racks, Isran bellowed. "Boy! What's your weapon of choice!"

Jolting slightly from the surprise question, Agmaer was caught flat footed for a moment. "Uhh my uh weapon? I mostly use my Pa's axe, when wolves or the like attack." Hearing this, Isran paused mid step. His head turned back jerkily, and he wore a somewhat incredulous expression. Shaking his head slightly he turned back round, muttering slightly _" 'My Pa's Axe'. . . Stendarr preserve us." _ Searching the rack, he eventually found what he was looking for. "Here, catch." An almost ornate war axe came flying through the air, this time actually prompting a very girl-_manly _scream. Isran just laughed slightly.

Turning back to Agmaer, Isran stood in between the practice dummies, arms crossed.

"C'mon then, farm boy. Let's see what you've got."

(1) 4E129 – Riften is burned to the ground. The events of Skyrim take place in 4E201, this story predates that just a tad, but it's only been about 80 years, so it's feasible that it's still a shithole due especially due to criminal factors.

(2) 4E005 – The Red Year took place roughly 190 years ago. Dunmer can live for roughly 2-300 years so it's highly possible that those who lived during the Red Year are still around.

(3)Though the Dawnguard was "reformed" by Isran, I can't find anything to suggest it was an actual credible organisation. The original Dawnguard were actually banished from the Rift. They didn't really gain any fame, and they weren't backed by anyone. It's just a group of dudes who have taken it upon themselves to kill some vampires.

(4)Drakes are another word for septims, due the dragon on the coin. IIRC it was used even before Tiber Septim was a thing. Also, as far as I'm aware all TES games just use "gold". As game this is fine, but in real life it'd be a bit odd. Especially in an almost medieval society. I've just gone for 100 copper drakes - 1 silver drake 10 silver drakes - 1 gold drake. Nice and simple.

(5)I've taken a bit of creative liberty with this. In 'TES V:Skyrim' It doesn't really go into how you make your hands glorified glow sticks, so I trundled over to the uesp wiki to see what it said on how spell casting actually _works_. As it turns out, not a whole lot: _"__The act of drawing on ones own magicka reserves in order to generate some kind of effect in the physical world is called "casting a spell". The__ Psijic Order __consider it an intensely personal exercise. No two mages weave their spells in exactly the same way. Like painting or sculpting, each artist has their own distinctive style.__" _It's rather vague, so I'm playing with it a little. This way it'll hopefully match Agmaer's character a little too.

(6)Apparently Stendarr is the god of well-earned luck

(7)Not 100% if mezzanine is the right term, they are basically indoor balconies/half floor things. Correct me if I'm wrong.

(8)Crossbows aren't that common it seems, though apparently the legion does have some mass-produced steel one, they're inferior to the dwemmer ones. Also, why bother training legions with crossbows when you can just have a unit of bosmer who have used bows their whole lives? Correct me if I'm wrong, I'm not really a lore expert.


End file.
